


but don't lie to yourself

by SmilinStar



Series: are we lovers or liars (hiding from the truth, lying under covers) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (that is a hundred percent not gonna happen), F/M, canon Memori, minor mentions of Bellarke, murven - Freeform, references to Raven x Zeke, season 5 speculation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: “Clarke, please,” she pleads, because, somehow, she’s gone from anger to bargaining, and it’s only then that she realises what she’s doing. Cycling through the stages of grief as if he’s already dead.And no, she thinks, as clarity eases the fog and she shakes her head. Because, no, she’s not doing this. Because no. He’s not dead.“You know what?” she says then, with a dismissive shrug and a fake smile. It’s a one-eighty turn quick enough to give anyone whiplash. “Never mind.”Because if there’s one person who’s going to survive this, it’s him.It’s John Murphy.





	but don't lie to yourself

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to _'lie to me'_ , and you do really need to read that first to understand the set-up, but it's very short in comparison to this fic, which has somehow morphed into a mammoth beast. So if you make it through to the end, I hope you enjoy the ride! 
> 
> Series title from Lauren Aquilina's _Lovers or Liars_.

))((

 

Everyone calls it denial.

And deep down she knows they’re right.

She spends those first few days in a haze of disbelief. Because it would be just like him – the asshole that he is – to see this as some brilliant joke. Because _ha ha_ isn’t it hilarious how you’ve been worried sick about me and I’ve only been skulking around in the woods for days, just waiting to pop out and yell _“gotcha!”_?

Raven keeps expecting him to stroll right back into camp, two hours late to breakfast (because old habits are hard to break, and he was always the last to wake on the Ring), with a shit-eating grin on his face at all their disgruntled expressions, as he says with irritating indifference, _“What? Did you really think it would be that easy to get rid of me?_ Cockroach, _remember?_ ”

She’s sure Monty would have dumped whatever’s left on his plate over his head at that point.

But it doesn’t happen like that.

No.

Days pass, and it turns into a week, and no one’s seen him since that absolute epic fail of a plan to get one step ahead of McCreary. And from the ashes of that disaster, that psychotic bastard has, somehow, successfully managed to stage a coup, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of Diyoza since. Raven knows they’d all rather go back to dealing with her. McCreary makes her look like a simple snake of a politician in comparison to his demented despot.

What can she say? Hindsight’s a bitch.

They’re all still so sure it was Murphy that fed McCreary the intel.

And they’re right.

She knows they are.

But what makes her so goddamn furious is that they all refuse to see beyond the black and white. And after all this time, surely the one thing every single one of them should be able to do – because there are no saints left here, only sinners – is see in shades of grey?

And so, just like that, anger takes the place of denial.

And it’s Clarke that asks her after finding her down by the stream. She’s sitting there scrubbing the oil and sweat stains off one of the very few t-shirts she has left, when she hears the familiar voice.

“Hey, here you are. You okay? I was worried about you.”

Raven doesn’t look up to meet her gaze as she wrings the thread-bare garment dry. “I’m fine,” she snaps in a way that suggests she’s anything but.

Clarke sighs, and it’s followed then by the scrape of her boots on the rocks, and the rustle of her jacket as she lowers herself to the ground.

“Listen, I get that you’re mad, but Bellamy did what he had to. Murphy didn’t deny it and -”

“And _what_ , Clarke? Bellamy just took what he said at face value? No questions asked?”

She turns to look at her, and she can see the twinge of guilt that has her avoiding her gaze.

“Oh I’m sure Murphy did his best to persuade you he was guilty,” she continues. “Pushing all the right buttons, cos if there’s one thing he’s brilliant at, it’s that. But come on, Clarke! You weren’t there with us for those six years. We’ve all changed. Which is why, I don’t get it. How could Bellamy believe for one second that he . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence, presses the heels of her wet hands into her eyes and takes a deep breath in and out.

It’s been bugging her this entire time.

If anyone should have given him the benefit of the doubt, it’s Bellamy.

It doesn’t make any sense.

“I know,” Clarke says softly, and that doesn’t help at all. But she’s not finished, and hope begins to uncurl in her stomach as she carries on speaking. “I know. And I think Bellamy knows it too. There’s more to this . . .”

“Then what are we doing?” Raven bursts out. She’s already pushing herself to stand, her braced leg cramping painfully as she does, but she barely winces these days. “We should send out a search party! Bring him back!”

Clarke’s shaking her head, and there’s pity on her face. “We wouldn’t know where to start. And we don’t have anyone to spare . . .”

“Clarke, please,” she pleads, because, somehow, she’s gone from anger to bargaining, and it’s only then that she realises what she’s doing. Cycling through the stages of grief as if he’s already dead.

And no, she thinks, as clarity eases the fog and she shakes her head. Because, no, she’s not doing this. Because no. He’s not dead.

“You know what?” she says then, with a dismissive shrug and a fake smile. It’s a one-eighty turn quick enough to give anyone whiplash. “Never mind.”

Because if there’s one person who’s going to survive this, it’s him.

It’s John Murphy.

And she bolsters her heart with that fact and brushes herself off.

“Raven -”

“Don’t worry about it, Clarke. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Clarke doesn’t push.

Which suits her just fine.

Because if it’s a lie, it’s not as if she can tell anymore, anyway.

 

))((

 

He almost doesn’t make it that first night.

Because he’s John freakin’ Murphy, and the Universe despises him. It always has. And the feeling is mutual, he decides, sticking a defiant middle finger up at the sky.

He’s not even made it a few miles from the camp, before he hits the first sign of trouble.

He can feel it in the air – the shifting pressures, and the taste of acid on the tip of his tongue, the ominous silence around him as even mutated birds fly away. Rain is on its way. And not the water your crops, singing in the rain, kinda rain either.

And though it’s not quite Black Rain (thank small mercies for that), it’s still not something he wants to get stuck in. But there aren’t a lot of places for him to seek cover. He’s over a mile out from the borders of Eden and tree cover, and it’s just dustland and rocks for stretches ahead of him.  

Maybe, he thinks, he can outrun it.

But that idea is kiboshed with a rumble of thunder in the near distance at that precise moment, and he literally feels it shudder through his bones.

 _Old, hole-ridden tent it is then_ , he decides.

It’s flimsy cover at best, and when the rain finally hits, Murphy thinks maybe he should have just taken his chances and run back in the direction of Eden.

Eden, which is still under Eligius control, with the rest of his people living precariously on a strip of land, heavily patrolled day in, day out, thanks in part to him.

He swallows down the bitterness and tries not to swallow the rain instead. It’s dripping through the holes in his tent ceiling, and down the grazed and broken skin of his face, and it stings _like hell_.

Giving a damn about people freaking sucks.

He never should have started in the first place.

But then he thinks of Emori – sees flashes of her smile in his head and feels the phantom fluttering in his stomach as he remembers that look in her eyes – soft, warm and filled with promises of _I’ll never leave you behind_ – and he realises that that’s some addictive shit right there.

_Love._

It’s a drug. It’s a fucking disease.

He couldn’t have resisted even if he wanted to.

And it’s going to get him killed.

After all, he wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t for the fact he cared about these assholes in the first place.

He tries to shake them from his thoughts. Tries to close his eyes and let the sound of the rain battering down around him carry him away.

It doesn’t.

He sees only tear-filled brown eyes in the darkness, and hears the cracked whisper of _“Murphy”_ in the wind all night long.

 

))((

 

Another week and they’re still no closer to making a deal with the devil. McCreary’s men patrol their borders twenty-four seven – if they so much as put one foot over that invisible line, he’s made it clear he’ll happily unleash his rockets and wipe them out.

The sick son-of-a-bitch is toying with them. She knows this because what the hell else could he possibly want other than getting his shits and giggles from torturing them?

Had Clarke’s plan worked, McCreary would have been the one blown to bits and they could have struck a tentative truce with Diyoza by now. But the truth is, she’s most likely dead, and any hopes of a truce dead along with her. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s not as if they ever taste anything better.

“Bastard,” Emori mutters beside her, echoing the thoughts in her mind. But it’s not McCreary she’s thinking of.

Raven looks up from where she’s stoking the fire and follows the direction of her death glare. It’s fixed on one of the patrols, and she can understand why. The man’s lecherous expression makes her skin crawl, and she wants to burn both his eyes out of their sockets with her blistering hot poker. She has a feeling the same thoughts preoccupy Emori too.

But, Raven’s learning to bide her time. Just like everyone else this side of the line.

“Ignore it,” she tells her under her breath, snapping her own gaze back to the crackling fire, and the burning embers flying off the blackening logs.

Emori shakes her head but eventually looks away. And without the attention, the patrol soon loses interest and wanders off into the night.

“Here,” she says, skewering a piece of leftover meat and offering it to her. “You should eat something.”

Everyone else has, but Emori had been noticeably absent from dinner, as if she’s been avoiding everyone. And it’s only now that they’ve all disappeared that she’s come out of hiding. Most have gone to sleep, others to walk off their redundant energy and growing agitation, and others to whisper about as yet undisclosed, hush-hush plans. Octavia and Indra, Bellamy and Clarke, Kane – it’s always the usual suspects plotting away in the dark. She doesn’t pry too much, figures they’ll clue in the rest of the gang when they’re ready.

She nudges Emori’s shoulder with hers, but she doesn’t glance her way.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Because Raven knows her. Six years up in space, and she’d call every single one of the Spacekru members her friends. But she’s grown especially fond of Emori over that time – it had been nice to share her knowledge with someone so openly fascinated and keen to learn. And over time, that extended to sharing jokes, and spilling up secrets and they’d become genuine friends. Of course, the others mean a lot to her too; finding things in common over the years and sharing the burdens of trying to get them to the ground, and the fear that they never will. She loves them all – even the one that’s hell-bent on making it difficult for her to.

But he’s not here, and the on-again, off-again, love-of-his-life is. And she’s clearly struggling to deal in the aftermath of his decision to turn traitor.

Emori doesn’t answer her; let’s out a heavy sigh instead and asks a question of her own. “What makes you so sure, huh? What makes you so sure he’s innocent?”

“He’s not,” Raven answers simply. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his reasons for doing what he did.”

A heavy breath leaves her lips, curling up into something resembling a sneer. “Yeah, his own selfish reasons.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Emori turns to look at her then. “I’m surprised _you_ don’t.”

Raven doesn’t know quite what to say to that, because she doesn’t know what to make of it herself. Not when she thinks back on how this all started – a desperate, careless, selfish pull of a trigger, and a lifetime of pain because of it.

She _should_ hate him.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

And yet, she doesn’t hate him. And a traitorous little voice in her head adds in a whisper: _not even close._

And somehow Emori knows she doesn’t have an answer for her.

“He’s always cared about you, you know?”

Raven snaps her head in her direction

“I wondered if it was just the guilt that made him feel that way. But it wasn’t until he stayed behind with you that I realised it was more than that. I thought, maybe, he was doing it for me – to say ‘hey? You know that useless guy you keep talking about? Not so useless, after all’. But this is John, and if there’s one thing that always comes first for him – it’s survival. Unless, of course, he’s _in love,_ and then he turns into a reckless idiot.”

The words are pointed, and Emori’s gaze unflinching, firelight dancing off her brown irises and she wonders if they’re not glazed with tears. And in them she sees the truth. _Emori knows exactly why he did what he did._ Murphy hadn’t been the only one lying that day. But then she blinks and looks away and the mask goes back up.

Raven can feel the pounding in her chest, the swirling storm in her gut that makes her want to run from this conversation, as far away as she possibly can. Because she remembers.

Remembers the earnest, steady gaze, and the eternal pause where her mind had whirled with a possibility she’d never thought of, but he’d batted it away with a question that jammed that door open anyway.

_I mean, why do you always have to be the one to sacrifice?_

She blinks the memory away and tries not to think about the last conversation she had with him either. Because, no, it’s not true. Because what’s true is this:

“He loves you Emori.”

“No,” she says with a sad smile, shaking her head. “He _did_. But I guess, in the end, it doesn’t really matter all that much now, does it?”

“Emori . . .”

“Thanks for dinner,” she says throwing the charred piece of meat in her hands back into the fire, before standing up, “but I’m not hungry.”

She leaves her then, and Raven doesn’t make her stay.

 

))((

 

Up in space, it had looked like the only piece of Earth still living was that valley.

Down on the ground, it’s a different story, and Murphy’s thankful for it.

It’s the only reason he’s still alive, after all.

It takes roughly a day and a half for him to stumble upon the small tributary. The water runs clear, but even then, it’s a gamble when he drinks from it. He takes the immediate lack of violent vomiting as a good sign, and nearly collapses with the relief. Because, of course, where there’s drinkable water? _There’s life_.

He follows the running stream and though it doesn’t lead to anything quite as impressive as Eden, his vision is once more filled with shades of green and towering trees that are still standing, proud in their defiant refusal to yield to mankind’s destructive power.

Murphy stumbles up against the solid trunk of one of them, looks up at the sky, to the shafts of sunlight finding their way through the leaves, and laughs. Like a madman.

And with no one around for miles to hear him, he couldn’t care less.

It’s funny, but it’s actually easier the second time around.

It’s not like this is his first rodeo – cast out, and alone, and trying to survive in the wilderness. The fact he doesn’t need to worry about Grounders finding and torturing him is already a plus. And though six years in space meant only algae for breakfast, lunch and supper, the several months they’ve been back down on Earth have refreshed those self-taught hunting skills. Because it certainly hadn’t been Pike who’d done that. No, all that man had done was fill him with a spiteful need to prove him wrong; which, he supposes, deserves its own special thank you. Too bad the man’s not alive to see hell freeze over.

The rations in his duffel bag end up stretching for a week, and after that he’s put to the test.

There aren’t that many fish, and the birds are scarce – quick to scare and fly away. The small patch of rejuvenated woodland he’s found himself in is rife with vermin. It doesn’t surprise him that they, as a family of species, have come away mostly unscathed. It takes one to know one, after all. But still even after going hungry for three days, he can’t find it in himself (or his stomach) to stoop to that.

And so, he sets his sights on the two-headed bear prowling the night instead.

But the mutant bear has been circling too, and he’s not ashamed to say it scares the hell out of him.

They spend the better part of the day dancing around each other, with plenty of near misses and close calls.

When it finally happens, he doesn’t exactly remember how.

He ends up flat on his back, blood trickling down the side of his face from a gash on his head, dripping into his eyes and painting everything red. He remembers the jagged rocks digging into his back as he pulls back on the trigger and wastes the last of his bullets on the beast. But it’s only when it charges at him in retaliation, teeth bared that Murphy thinks that maybe his time is up.  Maybe it’s time to die now.

He doesn’t remember. Doesn’t remember slashing his knife in the air until it catches flesh, then digging in for dear life and gutting the animal in one vicious swipe.

It bleeds all over him, and its in the aftermath, as he lies there, that he registers the agonising pain in his left leg and looks down to find the teeth embedded in his skin.

He doesn’t care, because he’s just caught himself dinner for the next three weeks at the very least.

It’ll take just as long before he’s no longer walking with a limp.

Another three until all that’s left are phantom twinges of pain, and he’ll think of her, and think with a twisted smile;

Poetic justice.

That’s what it is.

 

))((

 

“Hey, haven’t see you in a while.”

Raven doesn’t turn around at the familiar voice. He’s a little out of breath as he speaks, almost as if he’d spotted her from afar and had to do more than a light jog to reach her.

It’s Shaw who steps up beside her, slowing to match her stride.

Looking up at him, Raven finds him smiling down with a kind but wary tilt of his lips, and it’s enough to soften the leaden guilt in the pit of her stomach and smile back.

“Hey, to you too. Sorry, I’ve just, uh, been a little busy.”

“Oh yeah? With what?”

Good question.

Because, truthfully, ever since McCreary has had them dangling on a piece of string like play fodder to a cat, Raven’s had nothing to do but reminisce and ruminate. All their electrics and computer gear have been seized, and she’s going out of her mind, burning up with nervous energy, just for the want of something to do. Something useful.

And he knows it. His eyes crinkle at their corners as he shakes his head and laughs. “It’s alright. No offence taken.”

It doesn’t help her feel any less bad.

They’ve been dancing a line for weeks. Sure, she’d denied it to Murphy just before he left, but technically it hadn’t been a lie. A few kisses in the heat of the moment and flirty comments and teasing aside, she and Shaw haven’t really defined what they are.

All she knows is that she likes him. And she’s grateful to him. It can’t have been easy for him switching sides like he did. And with it, he’s put a target on his back – McCreary takes even less kindly to traitors than Blodreina.

She bumps her shoulder against his arm. “I’m not avoiding you, I promise.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Well, you’re a hard woman to pin down.”

His gaze makes her cheeks heat and it would be so easy to reach up and pull him down by the scruff of his neck and press her lips to his. So easy to give into it.

And yet, _she can’t._

And it frustrates the hell out of her trying to figure out _why._

“Have you heard from him?” he asks then, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“From who?”

“Murphy?”

Her heart stumbles a little in her chest at the name. A treacherous voice in her head chiming _that’s why,_ and she promptly drowns it out. She folds her arms across her chest and looks away. She wonders at when she became so damn transparent.

“No. And I wouldn’t expect to,” she answers evenly.

“No. No, of course not.” And there’s something in his voice that catches as the words tumble out of his mouth. Something that makes the fine hairs on her arms prickle, but he’s not looking at her to help her make sense of it. His eyes are focussed only on the path ahead.

Before she can push him on it, he speaks up once more. “Can I ask you something?”

“I take it you’re gonna ask me anyway?”

He ignores her teasing tone and forges ahead. “Did you and he ever . . . ?”

It takes a second to register, and then she laughs. Scrunching her nose as she bursts out with an emphatic. “No! God no. Never!”

He grins. “Oh good, cos there was a moment there when I thought . . . I mean the first time I met you guys . . .” He shakes his head as if trying to clear the memory. “The way he went for McCreary, the blind rage, when he saw you. I thought maybe he was in love with you.”

Her throat feels dry and her pulse thrums, because she knows _exactly_ what he’s talking about. Recalls meeting wild eyes across a room – the concern and electric blue of pure rage that shone back at her at the sight of her hurt and tortured, never mind the shock collar around his own neck.

Everyone keeps telling her the same; Emori, Shaw, even Murphy himself with a near slip of the tongue he thought she didn’t catch, but she did. And she’s been clinging to it with the tips of her fingers ever since, wondering if she’ll ever let it go or finally wrap her whole hand around it and _believe it_.

“He would have done the same for any one of us.”

He stops beside her at that, moving to slide in front of her and it’s all she can do to stop herself from colliding into his chest. There’s a familiar swoop in her gut at the look in his eyes as he tilts forward, leaning down close as if he’s going to kiss her, before he opens his mouth, and breathes over her lips instead. “Good to know I have nothing to worry about then.”

He doesn’t wait around to hear her reply.

Which is probably a good thing too, because she would have told him that maybe _he did._

))((

 

Murphy keeps moving.

Never spends more than a few days in any one place.

He doesn’t have that luxury.

Because here’s the thing:

_It’s all lies._

Well, maybe not the part where he sold out Clarke’s plan to McCreary to save Raven from getting another bullet in her spine, and then got banished for it.

Because if there’s one thing Wonkru and Blodreina hold sacred, it’s the ancient (six-year old) tradition of banishing traitors. That, or sticking them in a pit and fighting to the death. No surprises for which option he chose. Here’s a hint: option A.

No, _that_ part’s true.

It’s the aimless wandering over the mass grave that is the Earth that’s the lie.

For one thing, it’s never been aimless.

He knows where he’s heading – if he’s been reading the map Clarke lodged in the inside pocket of his bag right, that is.

Because here’s the other thing:

McCreary and his men are still dying. And if Abby’s right, the key to curing them is out here somewhere in the wilderness. A rare irradiated ore that mixed with something or another, does something or another, and he stopped listening to Kane at that point, and he doesn’t really know, and he couldn’t care less. The point is, it’s leverage that may just get them control of Eden.

He just has to find it first.

And apparently, this particular gizmo Shaw’s managed to put together is supposed to help him do that. Part of him is still suspicious of the man. He worries if he’s not playing double agent, but then Murphy remembers that dumbstruck look in the man’s eyes every time he looks at Raven, and he thinks no one that in love with Raven Reyes would be stupid enough to play her for a fool.

Except maybe Finn Collins.

But that poor bastard’s dead – though that won’t stop him from thinking ill of the idiot.

In any case, Bellamy trusts him. Mostly.

It’s why he told Murphy not to turn the radio – the one he sneaked into his bag and hid carefully under his rations – on until after he finds the ore.

For this whole thing to work, for Murphy to get away without the threat of being tracked? It needed to be believable.

And if he thinks about Emori’s disappointed face, with a little trace of – _of course it was you –_ and Harper’s sad eyes, and Monty’s quiet rage, he thinks it worked.

And if he closes his eyes and sees those sad brown eyes and hears his name on Raven’s lips, he thinks maybe it worked a little _too_ well.

He’ll say it again: giving a damn about people?

It freaking sucks.

And disappointing them?

Sucks worse.

Which clearly means he’s not going to stop until he finds what Abby needs, or he’s going to die trying.

 _Yeah_ , he sighs into the overcast skies. _Sounds about right._

 

))((

 

It happens nearly a week later.

It happens just as she’s starting to get used to this new world.

And what happens is this: _she finally learns the truth._

And with it, the world tips on its axis one more time.

She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

But it’s hard not to deny the urge to creep up on the tent, not when she spots Shaw making such a point of not so stealthily looking around him, before ducking under. _Discreet_ is apparently not his middle name (it’s Zeke actually, and she likes it a hell of a lot better than Miles).

Creeping outside, careful not to cast shadows, she strains her ears to listen.

It’s Bellamy she hears first.

“Anything?”

“No. He’s not used the radio once. Well not to the radio frequency we’ve been monitoring.” Shaw.

“It’s been nearly two months, do you think . . .” Clarke’s voice falters.

“Trust me, he’s alive,” Bellamy reassures.

And with the words a thought starts to form in her mind. A seedling taking root deep in the sulci of her brain and growing up and out, navigating the maze and almost home free.

“Because he’s _Murphy_. And anyway, I told him not to use the radio unless he finds the ore, or he absolutely has to.”

“Why would you tell him that?” Clarke asks.

But it’s Shaw who answers, voice clipped. “Because he doesn’t trust me.”

Bellamy heaves a deep sigh. “No offence, but I don’t trust a lot of people.”

And well, she just can’t help herself then. _“And I guess that includes me, huh Bellamy?”_

All eyes swivel around to her as she pulls aside the tent flap and steps inside.

Bellamy’s face is a picture-perfect reflection of calm. Clarke has the decency to look ashamed. And Shaw? Well, she doesn’t know what he looks like right now, because she refuses to look at him, because she’s fucking furious and practically vibrating with it. That’s why.

“Raven,” Bellamy breathes out. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”

“Really, Bellamy? That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me?”

“Raven . . .”

“So, this whole thing’s been a set up? Murphy, you guys, you _planned_ this?” She takes a step back, and laughs, it’s bitter and lacks all humour, as she runs a hand over her face, before throwing them up in the air. “I don’t even know what _this_ is!”

“Raven, keep your voice down! Okay . . . okay, just listen. I’ll tell you what’s going on, but it was never about not trusting you. It’s just the less people involved the safer it is, and we had to make it believable. You had to believe, _everyone_ had to believe that Murphy sold us out to McCreary, for this to work.”

She takes a calming breath, and folds her arms across her chest, fixing Bellamy with her flinty gaze. The expression a silently spoken _go on._

And he does.

Takes a deep breath, and the whole story comes tumbling out in his hushed, gravelly voice and Raven doesn’t know what to think.

She feels more betrayed _now_ than she’d done before she’d known the truth.

And there’s one thing she doesn’t get.

“Okay fine, say I understand what you’re trying to do here, the cure, leverage, whatever, why didn’t you come to _me_ for the radios, the detector? You trusted Shaw more than me?”

She still hasn’t looked at him but can imagine him looking away with wounded eyes. But she doesn’t give a flying fuck about his hurt feelings. They all lied to her. Every single one of them.

“It wasn’t about trust, Raven,” Clarke says, turning earnest eyes on her, and they’re not working on her. No, not this time. “The part about McCreary having you in his sights? That part was true.”

She shakes her head. “Why me, though?”

It’s Shaw who answers. “He thinks Murphy’s in love with you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She finally looks up at him, and his expression says it all. _Is it?_

It’s Bellamy that voices it though. “Maybe it is. Doesn’t matter. The point is, McCreary believes what he wants to believe. And Murphy’s banishment? We had to sell it.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just us, and Octavia and Indra. Abby and Kane.”

She scoffs. “So, _everyone_ , apart from me.”

Clarkes presses her hand against her arm. “I’m sorry.”

She looks back at her. “You lied to my face.”

“I nearly told you. I wanted to, but -”

“So did you,” she tells Shaw then, cutting Clarke off as she spins to face him.

He says nothing.

“You know what? I’ve heard enough.” She doesn’t want to listen to any more, and she steps towards the exit.

It’s Bellamy who grabs hold of her arm this time as she passes. “Raven?”

She stops and shrugs him off, holds his serious gaze and says. “Relax, Bellamy. I won’t say anything. I’m angry, yes. But I get it, okay. I do. I just need some time to get my head around it.”

And it must be written all over her face as he nods and lets her go.

She doesn’t turn back to look, but she hears the footsteps following behind and Shaw calling out to her. “Raven? Raven, wait.”

She doesn’t.

Just keeps on walking.

 

))((

 

The thing with hours stretching into days and no one else around to talk to, means all Murphy has to occupy him are his own thoughts.

And they’re never good.

Because even those few good memories he does have, have been overshadowed by the shitshow his life’s turned into.

His parents? Dead. And it was all his own fault. His relationship with Emori? Also, dead. Also, his fault. His friends? They despise him now.

And yeah, maybe. Maybe if he comes through with this mission and it works in their favour, maybe they’ll forgive him, eventually. But the whole thing’s made a liar out of him, and he won’t be able to scrub away the stain.

 _You’ve done worse. Been forgiven for worse._ His inner cheerleader argues in his favour.

And his thoughts wander to Raven, as they often do.

He still doesn’t know how or why she’s forgiven him. What he’s done to deserve it.

But she has.

And it amazes him, and yet, doesn’t surprise him at all.

Because she’s the best of them. Always has been.

Which is why he knows, if he does get through this somehow, she’ll forgive him for this too. Maybe not straightaway, but always in the end.

But it’s the self-loathing asshole in him that chirps up then, feeding on those age-old insecurities of his, because _maybe,_ it argues, _maybe she shouldn’t_. Because everything he touches, everything he ever cares about, he infects. And he has to sit there and watch them decay from the inside out, until they’re dust under his feet and blown away in the wind.

And he won’t let that happen to her.

He won’t.

 

))((

 

It’s three days later.

Three days after learning the truth, and the dust has settled, that Clarke comes and finds her.

There’d been a particularly bad storm the night before. A few of the tents hadn’t withstood the battering from the elements, and Raven had offered to help where she could. She may be better known for her work with metal and a soldering iron, but she’s not too shabby with a hammer and nails either, and Wonkru had needed all the help they could get.

“Hey,” Clarke sidles up next to her, whispering in her ear, and she’s lucky that she hadn’t been mid-swing, or her thumb would be paying the price right about now. “We need to talk.”

Raven nods slightly, retrieves the nail she’d had gripped between her lips, and hammers it into place before following after her. Clarke heads for the little hut doubling up as their store room, away from prying eyes, and it’s the ideal location given current circumstances to not raise suspicions.

“What’s going on?” Raven asks once safely inside.

“It’s Murphy.”

Her heart sinks, because good news is a rarity these days, and the fear must show in her eyes. But Clarke is quick to shake her head and reassure with a smile and a squeeze of her arm. “It’s good news. He checked in on the radio last night. Bellamy picked up on the signal. He’s okay. He’s found it.”

“That’s great,” she says on a relieved exhale. And she does mean it, she does, but she also knows she doesn’t sound all that enthused.

And Clarke never misses a thing.

(Apart from the fact Bellamy’s in love with her and has been for years, but oh boy, she’s not wading her toes into that tangled mess.)

“You don’t seem that happy to hear it?”

“No, I am. It’s just, it’ll be weeks before he gets here, and we don’t even know if McCreary will take the bait.”

“He will,” Clarke reassures. “He’s getting desperate now. Shaw says they lost another one last night.”

“Abby?” The unspoken question is laced with concern.

“She’s okay. Her last attempt at the cure has won her some breathing room. They still think she’s close.”

“Well, she is. Just needs the missing ingredient.”

“They don’t know that. Not yet. But hopefully soon.”

Raven nods, but that searching look is still there on Clarke’s face, and it makes her uneasy.

“You and Murphy . . .” she starts, tentatively.

“We’re friends.”

Clarke nods, but doesn’t look like she believes it.

Raven sighs, deep and heavy. “We have a long and complicated history. We’re friends. He’s important to me. Beyond that? It’s hard to know. Hard to see how we could work. And anyway, it’s all just a hypothetical. I don’t feel that way, and neither does he. He and Emori . . .” She drifts off, and recognition glints in Clarke’s eyes. And of course it would. After all, Bellamy and Echo are still together. And that’s even more of a mess, because Raven cares about Echo too, and she only sees one way this ends – with the former Azgedan getting hurt.

“Yeah, no I get that. I just think, maybe we’ve _both_ been lying to ourselves for so long now, it’s hard to recognise the truths staring us in the face.”

And she thinks something momentous shifts in Clarke then. Like she’s only just playing back what she’s said aloud, and letting it sink in. But she says nothing more than, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

Raven nods and watches her leave.

And wonders just how much longer it’ll be before Bellamy and Clarke get their acts together.

Something tells her, it won’t be that long.

 

))((

 

When he finally finds what he’s spent all this time looking for, he can’t help but think it’s a massive let down.

Weeks of trudging through harsh terrains, getting battered by the elements, and attacked by wildlife, surviving through poisoning by way of berries (he really should have known better, but in his defence, he was desperate), it all culminates in this.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting – glowing green rocks, surrounded by fiery red molten hot lava or something? He doesn’t know. But definitely something more than plain old, garden variety, grey rocks.

He gets that it’s what inside, when melted down, that’s precious, but still.

_Freaking rocks._

He’s not complaining (too much) though, because he finally gets to flick on the switch on his radio and call home. It’s an odd feeling sitting there waiting; having not had anyone to talk to for so long, he wonders if he’s lost the ability to use his voice. Rationally, he knows that’s not true. He didn’t survive all this time without muttering to himself on occasion. And he’s had practice before, of course. Those torturous months in that bunker – his special Hell. The only difference this time is the fact his prison appears to be infinite, with an endless horizon.

He doesn’t really care much for either.

He leaves the coded message and waits.

And thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait too long.

It’s Bellamy who answers. “It’s good to hear your voice,” he says, and sounds like he means it.

“Likewise.”

“Tell me you found it, Murphy.”

He grins into the radio. “I found it.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief on the other end, and he knows the feeling only too well.

They exchange only a few more words about the rest of the plan, but before he lets him go and ends the transmission, Murphy has one final thing to add:

“You know you broke my nose, right?”

Bellamy chuckles in answer. “Come home, Murphy.”

And with a click, he’s gone.

The walk back to Eden will take several weeks, although it’ll still be a hell of a lot quicker than it took for him to get here. Because now he knows the lay of the land. Knows the treacherous terrain, which desert stretches and hill passes to avoid. Knows where to find his water and the sporadic patches of vegetation that represent the hope that one day the Earth will replenish itself. He doubts they’ll be alive to see that day, and he doubts whether they deserve to, but for now, he _is_ alive.

_And he’s heading home._

He thinks about what their reactions will be when he walks back into the settlement. That’s only of course if McCreary doesn’t blow his head off right there and then.

Monty will probably call him a dick before pulling him into a hug and forgiving him because that’s the kind of soft heart the guy is.

Emori won’t be so quick to forgive, but there’ll be a twitch of a smile curving her lips, because whatever they are, she’ll be happy to see him alive.

And then, there’s Raven.

And he really has no idea what she’ll do.

Or what he wants her to do.

And he decides, as he hefts his bag back onto his shoulder and sets off homeward-bound at long last, it’s probably best he doesn’t think about it.

 

))((

 

Raven wakes to the sound of running feet and unintelligible shouts. It’s not until Harper shakes her by the shoulders and tells her to hurry that she’s fully alert and realises what's happening.

_He’s back._

In her rush to get out of bed, she leaves her brace behind. Drags her bum leg behind her instead as she joins the growing crowds of Wonkru kept back by guns pointed in their direction and McCreary’s men.

She looks across their campsite, and at the crowd gathering there. Bellamy and Clarke stand at the front of it, side by side. There’s a serious crease in his forehead, smoothing only when Clarke reaches for his hand and squeezes. Something in Raven’s gut twists at the sight – it’s happy, it’s hopeful, and it’s a little sad. She pushes the feeling aside and swivels her head, craning her neck to see if she can see him. Someone tugs on her hand then and she realises seconds later that it’s Emori who’s pulling her to the front.

And it’s there that she sees him.

And she barely recognises him.

His hair is outgrown, facial hair just as unkempt and covered in dirt. His clothes are caked in it too, the bloodstains hard to look at. She remembers then what she’d tried so hard to forget.

Months.

He’d been out there for months. Alone. Fighting to survive. _For them_. And all that anger she’s been holding onto, right up until this moment, dissipates as easy as that.

“And what are you doing back here, Murphy? Thought your people tossed you aside like garbage?” McCreary’s voice rings out around them, an immediate hush descending with it.

Murphy shrugs, curls his lips into a smirk, and it’s such a familiar sight her heart aches.

“Yeah, well. I don’t really hold grudges anymore. _And_ I was kinda getting a little bored out there. Once you’ve seen one desert wasteland, you’ve see them all.”

McCreary pulls back on the safety of his gun, handling it as if that big ugly thing weighs nothing.

“Only reason your pretty little bird is still alive is cos you were useful that one time. So, you better start talking kid.”

She should have seen it coming really, the gun pointing in her direction, and yet her heart pounds and the blood rushes and she feels Emori tighten her grasp on her arm.

“Always with the theatrics McCreary,” Murphy retorts, the words a bored drawl from his lips. He doesn’t look her way.

McCreary’s finger dances along the trigger.

“I’ve got something for you.”

“And what could you possibly have that I would want, huh?”

“How about the cure?” He shrugs again, “I mean, well part of it. Abby just needs to work her magic.”

“Nice try.”

“Don’t believe me? Nah, that’s okay. I wouldn’t believe me either.”

She can see the intrigue playing across McCreary’s face. Remembers what Clarke said. He’s _desperate._

She thinks maybe he’s giving into it when suddenly his gun’s no longer pointing at her, but at him, and she doesn’t even recognise the gunshot for what it is. Because she hadn’t believed he would do it, and not without warning, but then McCreary’s always been a mad, loose cannon.

There’s a moment of surreal silence that envelops the crowd for a few, heart-stopping seconds, before they’re surging forwards in horror, clamouring and shouting and pushing at her back, because traitor or not, Murphy’s still one of them. And damn it she can’t see. She can’t see him. And panic beats ferociously in her chest.

Another burst of gunfire follows, and a terrifying hush falls instantly.

She hears him order his men. “Bring him.”

They have him by the arms, a fresh smear of blood on his neck as they drag him away.

“No, no, no, no,” she doesn’t even realise she’s muttering frantically, Emori deathly silent beside her.

“He’s gonna be okay.”

It’s Shaw who says it from behind her, and she doesn’t even know when he got here. She tries to focus on what he’s telling her.

“He’s okay. It was a surface shot. I think it just clipped his shoulder.”

Emori looks horrified. “What is happening?” she mutters over and over.

But Raven doesn’t even register the question. One paralysing thought keeping her in place. “They’re gonna kill him,” she breathes out, shaking her head in horror.

“They won’t,” Shaw says, bending to meet her at eye-level. “You know what Kane said. They’re gonna need regular doses of that cure for the rest of their lives if they’re gonna survive. They need the rest of that ore and Murphy will have rigged it to blow as a failsafe. They _can’t_ risk killing him. _They won’t_.”

“What the hell is going on?!” Emori screams it this time.

Shaw grabs them both by the shoulders then. “I’ll explain on the way, but we need to get out of here first.”

He steers them away from the heckling crowd and urges them to follow.

“Come on,” he says, setting off at a run. “I know where they’ve taken him.”

Raven grabs Emori’s hand and runs as best she can.

 

))((

 

Shot.

He got shot.

Typical.

Murphy grits his teeth with the pain as McCreary’s jackasses force him to the floor, twisting his arms back as they do. He can’t help but yell because son-of-a-bitch bullets fucking _hurt._

“Stop it! Stop you’re hurting him!” It’s Abby.

He’d breathe out a sigh of relief if his lungs weren’t seized up with the pain.

McCreary grabs the rock he has clutched in his hands and throws it over to her. “Kid tells me that that paperweight is supposed to be the key to our survival? Is this some kind of joke, cos I really don’t see nothing funny here!”

Abby shakes her head. Her voice trembling. “It’s not a joke. There’s a compound in that ore that’s been missing from all my previous attempts. With this, I can do it. I can make the cure.”

“Kept that pretty quiet, didn’t ya Doc? Been helping these kids, plotting behind my back?” he sneers right in her face. “Tell me why I shouldn’t just blow you all to pieces right now?”

“Because if you do that, we’ll never tell you where you can find the rest of it.” It’s Bellamy. Murphy can barely lift his head to look but it’s Bellamy who stumbles in, alongside Clarke and Octavia. He thinks he spots Raven and Emori too, but he can’t be certain as black dots start to obscure his vision. It’s getting a little hard to stay awake here. Bellamy needs to hurry this thing along, already.

“And believe me, you really are gonna need the rest of it.”

There’s a moment then, he can see him thinking it over. “Or maybe I just start shooting until you tell me.”

“Or,” Bellamy steps forward, “I’ll just blow your only chance of survival to pieces right now.”

McCreary eyes the detonator in Bellamy’s hand trying to figure out if he’s bluffing. It’s a long moment before he makes his choice. He turns to Abby, “I’m gonna need proof, Doc. You have six hours.”

He barely manages to stop himself from sagging with the relief.

“Six? I’m going to need-”

“Five.”

“Okay, okay, I can do it.”

 _Fan-fucking-tastic_ , is the last thought Murphy has, before he finally lets the darkness take over and blacks out. He doesn’t feel it when his face hits the floor, and there may have been the sound of someone screaming his name before he keeled over, but he won’t remember anything of it when he wakes.

Which is just fine by him.

It’s about time the Universe started paying back.

 

))((

 

They take it in turns sitting beside him.

He’s out cold for hours.

His injuries and the physical stresses he’s had to endure have clearly taken its toll. Bellamy sits on his other side, opposite Raven. He looks haggard and stricken by guilt.

Clarke stands behind him, a hand reaching up over his shoulder and squeezing. Silently telling him, _it’s not your fault._

Bellamy reaches up and clasps her hand under his.

Her own eyes reach Emori’s standing over in the corner. There’s a tentative smile in her eyes when she looks back at her, her gaze dropping down and it takes a moment for Raven to realise what she’s looking at. She’s clutching Murphy’s hand in her own – a vice grip that no one can undo. She looks up at that smile once more and understands what Emori’s saying without words.

“Let me know when the idiot wakes?”

The way she curls her lips around the word ‘idiot’, drenched in affection, makes Raven’s heart clench. But she takes it for what it is. Acceptance.

She nods back at her, and watches Emori leave with one backward glance at the man still lying unconscious in bed.

Another hour passes, and Raven doesn’t move.

Bellamy is summoned soon after, and she figures Abby’s done it. Clarke follows him, but not before checking with her. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

And she does.

And that leaves her.

With nothing to do but wait.

 

))((

 

He fights it.

Consciousness.

Because it’s nothing but pain, misery and suffering waiting to greet him in wakefulness. That’s all his life has amounted to. It’s all he’s known, after all.

But then he feels it. The warmth.

Sparking up from his hand and burrowing itself deep in his chest. And he remembers his father. Smiling eyes and a warm hand curled around the back of his neck as he bends to one knee to meet his gaze. _“I love you, buddy. You know that, right?”_ Smiling eyes soon turn into watery, red eyes, begging for forgiveness. _I’m sorry_ , they say. _I didn’t mean it. Grief can turn you ugly, and I wasn’t strong enough_. And he hears himself whisper, _“I forgive you, mom.”_ And he feels lighter for it. Laughter rings in his ears. A finger tracing down his cheek. _You and I, we made a good team didn’t we John?_ She presses a hand to his chest, and it doesn’t really need to be said. He carries a piece of her there, just as she carries him. And that’s enough for them. A bowl of godawful algae sliding across the table, and a teasing _“Join us dickhead,”_ from Monty, Harper smiling beside him, Echo shaking her head and Bellamy grinning across from him.  _“Didn’t you get the memo, Murphy? You’re part of this family now.”_ And finally, a _“thank you.”_ Not the first and not the last. _“Thank you for staying.”_ Again, and again, which is beginning to sound a lot like, _“don’t go,”_ and, _“don’t die.”_

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, Reyes.” His voice is cracked and hoarse, and he’s surprised that she even makes sense of the words. “Cockroach, remember?”

She laughs – it’s wet and breathless, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Now she’s the one not making any sense, but as his eyes blink open and he finds her standing over him, hand still holding his, he really doesn’t care.

“Hey,” he croaks.

“Hey.”

He tries to shift to get a little more upright, but that small movement is jarring, and he grimaces in pain, swearing under his breath.

“Careful, you idiot. You got shot.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

She swats at him, and he groans again. “Jeez, Raven. You can’t go beating on a man who just got shot.”

She doesn’t even look apologetic. And that’s the Raven Reyes he remembers and loves.

He looks around. “No welcome back party? Where is everyone?”

“Bellamy and Clarke are negotiating a deal with McCreary. Abby did it. Thanks to you.”

And the way she looks at him then has him blushing and thank god for the bush growing on his face hiding it from view.

“How’s it feel, Murphy? You’re a bona fide hero.”

He rolls his eyes. “How about you shoot me again?”

Raven laughs once more, and it lights up her whole face and he can’t look away.

“And everyone else?” he asks. And from the way her expression softens, she knows what he’s asking.

“They’re all okay. They’ve been taking turns to check in on you. Emori was here not long ago.”

He swallows. Tries to shrug it off as nonchalantly as he can, but it falls flat. “So, they don’t hate me, then?”

“No more than usual.”

He snorts, laughter spilling in that one huff of breath as he shakes his head.

She smiles back.

“Bellamy and Clarke, hmm?” he prompts, changing the subject. “Seems like I missed a lot while I was gone. I guess they’re back to being our fearless leaders?”

“Yeah, and that’s not all.”

It must be the pain and the blood loss, but it takes longer than it should for him to understand. And then when it does, the surprise can’t stop him from bursting out, “Oh wow? Really? About freakin’ time!”

Raven nods. “Yep.”

But then he remembers, and the smirk on his lips disappears. Because even though he’s happy for them, there’s someone left to think about. “Echo? How’s she doing with it all?”

She doesn’t answer him. Goes silent for a moment that stretches on long enough to make him squirm as her eyes stay glued to his face. “Raven?”

She shakes her head. “She’ll be okay. She’s a warrior, remember? Tough as nails. And she has friends, so yeah, she’s gonna be fine.” But despite her words, she still has that look on her face, and it doesn’t go, not until she shakes her head once more, muttering an “unbelievable” under her breath.

“What?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

She simply gives him a cryptic smile in response. “You’ve changed John Murphy.”

“Yeah, well, lack of a razor and a decent pair of scissors for months will do that to a guy.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

And part of him wants to ruin the moment, say something snarky and put that wall up, create that distance between him, and everyone around him. But the bigger part of him. The part of him that took on the unforgiving Earth and elements and everything else that wanted to beat him down, says he can be brave a little longer.

“I’m sorry, Raven. For lying to you.”

She squeezes his hand. “Yeah, I know,” she breathes out slowly, meeting his gaze. “It sucked. But I understand why you had to do what you did.” She shrugs. “I’m just glad you’re back here, safe.”

She still hasn’t let go of his hand, fingers dancing across his skin instead, and it spurs him on.

“Where’s your boyfriend? I need to thank him, wouldn’t have managed without him to be honest. He’s a good guy.”

Raven nods. “He is.”

Two words, and just like that he comes crashing back down to the ground, because _as if?_ As if this actually means anything more to her? They’re friends. And that’s _enough_. And he’s a selfish shit for ever hoping differently. He tries to pull away, but she only grips tighter.

“You’re jealous,” she says simply, and echoes of a conversation long ago ring in his ears.

But this time, _this time_ , he doesn’t brush it off. Balances, instead, on a cliff edge.

“And what if I am?”

“I’d say maybe you didn’t need to be.”

“Is that right, Reyes?” he teases, even though his heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s still standing there on the edge, flailing, arms wind-milling, ready to fall.

She doesn’t say a word, just reaches over and traces her fingers up his jawline and pushes the hair off his forehead.

And that apparently is her answer.

“You know I’m a total screw up, don’t you?” he tells her.

She smiles enigmatically.

_“Aren’t we all?”_

 

))((

 

They’re not like the others.

And Raven likes it that way.

They’re not the sickeningly sweet, lovey-dovey duo that are Monty and Harper. So sickeningly cute, and yet she adores them just the way they are, because they make her _believe._

Neither are they Bellamy and Clarke; the star-crossed lovers, always meant to be, but life and circumstance kept pulling them apart, until finally, their time came. The here and now. She thinks people could write poems and novels of their love, and she’d read them all.

But no, they’re not like them either.

They’re just Raven and Murphy.

Just like they’ve always been.

With the teasing and the sniping, and snark being their chosen language of love.

But it’s all with an affection that lingers now. The teasing tempered by touches here and there. And it surprises her just how comfortably tactile they are.

Fingers running through hair, cheek and forehead kisses, and hugs. Plenty of hugs. Murphy loves his hugs, and she thinks it’s from a lifetime of being starved of them.

With all the history between them – they shouldn’t work, but they do.

They don’t rub it in Emori’s face either, but it turns out they have nothing to worry about there. In fact, she and Emori are closer than ever these days and she knows it unnerves him, which she finds hilarious.

She teases him, sometimes, that she’ll leave him for her, and he just shakes his head and shrugs. _“Sounds fair.”_

But she also knows what really worries him. What often keeps him up at night and makes him recklessly lash out in the day.

She knows he worries she’ll wake up one day and think she deserves better. And she’ll leave, and he’ll let her. And so, she strives to chip away at those insecurities day by day, and he in turn makes her believe she’s _more_ than she knows, and more than she could ever have dreamed.

And as much as things change.

Some things stay the same.

And she wouldn’t have it, or him, any other way.

“You’re still a dick,” she’ll tell him again, curled up on her bed, reading.

“Careful, Reyes, I might start to think you’re in love with me,” he’ll grin.

And maybe she’ll lob her book at him. Maybe she won’t.

But her answer will always be the same.

_“Yes I am.”_

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. As always, comments are very much welcome, so please let me know what you thought! :-)


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